Brucey traced his finger over the "Prospect" patch on his kutte, realizing that this was the last time it was going to be sewn on. He hung back slightly from the others as they gathered outside of an old building - he remembered Juice mentioning he'd even had his wedding reception here, but now, it was going to host a very different kind of event. A different kind of event entirely.
In church today, the club had taken two votes, the first of which Brucey was sitting outside waiting for.
It had been, at least for a few brief moments, one of the best moments of his life when they said they'd all voted for him to become a fully patched member of the club - the elation was quickly shattered, however, when he proceeded to ask if they had voted on Flick as well. Flick, after all, had become a brother to him as well in the process of prospecting for SAMCRO. Jax nodded for Brucey to take a seat at the table before speaking again.
"That was why we wanted you to be a fully-patched, votin' member," Jax began delicately. "Because Flick is your boy and you deserve a say in what happens next."
Jax explained what they'd found out, going through the burner left in Wenya's room - the texts only confirmed that it did indeed belong to Flick, and that he'd gotten it at some point from August Marks. He had been relaying secrets about the club - about them having Wenya, about the club's day-to-day operations. Even hooking up with Wenya had been for Marks, in attempts to see what she might reveal after having gotten so close to Happy.
Brucey almost couldn't believe himself, voting the way he did. It felt bad. It made him question how much he could stand, being a part of this club - but it was too late to change his mind now. After this job was done, he'd swap out his patches. He'd no longer be a prospect. But there was just something that felt inescapably wrong. He was supposed to go through this with Flick, and he was here instead, following the club into an old, empty building, with Happy taking the lead.
There was a wave of nausea that hit Brucey when he saw Flick, zip-tied to a chair in the middle of the empty room, his face already bruised from the struggle it must have taken for Happy to get him tied down in the first place. At first, he was slumped tiredly, but when he realized that he was no longer alone in the dark room, he looked up, clearly unsure of what to expect until he saw who was heading up the group - then he knew, his fate was nothing to look forward to.
"Hap," Flick said, his eyes wide with fear, but not with any sort of remorse whatsoever. "Happy, if this is about that Chinese bitch, it was just pussy, man. Nothin' between brothers, right?"
"My brothers are behind me," Happy said coldly, turning the blade of his knife slowly so it caught a glint of the single dim light that was on in the room. "You know what I see in front of me? A rat."
Flick let out a gasp when he saw Happy use his shoe to scoot a cardboard box forward over the ground, seeing that it was filled with different objects. The rest of the club hung back, having no intention of intervening. This was Hap's kill. And whether he wanted to admit it or not, he wanted this kill.
"Y-you... you don't get it, Hap," Flick stammered desperately as he quickly realized that there was no way to deny what he'd done - but explain it? Could he? He squirmed, straining against the zip ties on his wrists. "It was only gonna be a little while. It wasn't gonna be anythin' important - I never ratted on anythin' that could get us in trouble, I was gonna give the money to the club, I swear -"
"'S right. Just keep talkin', rat," Happy said calmly, crouching down and reaching into the box without looking up or acknowledging Flick's explanations. "Makes the process more interesting."
"Brucey!" Flick yelled desperately, his voice cracking as he turned to look at his friend. "Brucey, man, tell 'em! Tell 'em, I'd never -"
Juice clapped his hand on Brucey's shoulder, seeing the man's expression falter as though he was second-guessing the vote he'd cast. Brucey looked at Juice, who shook his head.
"It's already done, brotha'," he said in a low voice. "It's done."
Flick cried out piteously, tossing around violently against the bindings so that the chair he was in fell onto its side on the ground, and he squirmed and writhed as though he would be able to escape this way, but knowing he couldn't possibly do so, Happy continued preparing his tools. He pulled out a funnel and attached it to a plastic hose, sealing the connection with a strip of duct tape and allowing himself a dark chuckle.
"Fuck," Tig muttered, glancing around at the other Sons and raising his eyebrows when he spotted Happy pulling a bottle out of the box next. "This is gonna be some twisted shit."
"Coming from you?"
"Well, I didn't say anythin' was wrong with it."
By now, Happy had crouched over and grabbed Flick by the hair on the back of his head and secured the end of the hose into his mouth with more duct tape. He now stood over the younger man, whose eyes were wide with terror, and held him down with a foot atop his chest. Happy held the bottle in one hand, and they now saw that, quite appropriately, it was a bottle of rat poison. In the other hand, he held the funnel attached to the hose feeding into Flick's mouth.
"Wait."
Happy turned around, raising his eyebrows slightly when Jax spoke up. He knew better. Happy thought Jax knew better than to interrupt him when he'd already gotten into his groove. This work was a process - and there were instances that Happy enjoyed the process even more than usual. This was one of them. If Jax was about to say that he couldn't go through with it, he was going to snap. He was going to fucking snap. Flick, however, stared pleadingly at Jax, groaning and making a few unintelligible noises in his desperation.
Jax, however, simply pulled out the burner they'd found in Wenya's room and used it to snap a low-quality picture of Flick on the ground. He turned and handed the phone off to Brucey, staring the newest SAMCRO member in the eyes for a few moments. "I know you don't need to see this. Brother," he added, emphasizing the final word with every ounce of sincerity he could muster. "You and Juice ride out to the newest lounge that the Triads opened. Leave the phone with one of the girls there, make sure Charles Kwan gets the message that SAMCRO doesn't take kindly to rats."
At this, even Juice gave a slight gulp - old habits died hard, as did old fears. But when there was no pointed glance towards him, no mention of the past, Juice reached out and squeezed Brucey's shoulder firmly. "Let's get outta here. Get this shit done," he said. He practically had to shove Brucey towards the door. They got outside, and the door had just creaked shut behind them when they heard the first agonized, muffled groans and noises of pain that signaled the inevitable - Jax had finally let Happy get back to work.
Juice looked over at Brucey as they put on the fastenings of their helmets, and she realized that the younger man was shaking slightly.
"It gets... better, right?" Brucey asked, sounding almost nauseous. "Easier?"
"Never," Juice replied. He wished he could tell the guy that at some point, it paid off, or it became worth it - but it had been a long time since Juice had believed in any of that. "You just learn to stop feeling it."
But even that, Juice reprimanded himself internally after he had already said it, wasn't even remotely true.
Denise had just finished putting Sofia to bed and returned out to the living room where Wenya was sitting alone - Nero had gone outside to the porch for a smoke and to keep an eye out for any of the guys finally arriving. Wenya, as it turned out, had already snooped around and gotten into the limited selection of booze in the cabinet over the stove, now taking the occasional swig straight from a bottle of Crown Royal. She certainly didn't hesitate making herself comfortable.
"Why'd you do it?" Denise found herself asking suddenly, speaking to the woman for the first time that evening. Wenya paused and put the bottle down, knowing immediately what Denise meant. She gave a quiet, melancholy laugh, shaking her head. The poor thing didn't get why she'd slept with another guy. 'Because I wanted to' clearly was not an answer that she would accept.
"I'm easy," Wenya said simply. "I'm a whore, Mei. And I like what I do," she shrugged. "Because it's all I know -"
"But - you and Happy," Denise stammered, shaking her head questioningly. "He wasn't - he wasn't just a client, was he? He wasn't a paying customer."
"We had fun," Wenya said, standing up slowly and taking a few steps, pulling Nero's sweater more tightly around her shoulders. "And he - well, he's good. Really good. But one day, we're drunk out of our minds. Says that if I ever became his old lady, I could quit workin' the club floor at Diosa - work with your friend Lyla, makin' movies and shit -"
"Wenya, that's great," Denise interrupted in disbelief. "Lyla - she's amazing at what she does, I'm sure she could show you a thing or -"
"I like what I do," Wenya repeated, raising her eyebrows at Denise as though she were a small child who was misunderstanding words she'd never heard before. "I'm not you. I'm not made to have a - a husband, and a baby, and a nice little house. I'm not made for your perfect little marriage and perfect little family. None of these things are for me. This - being a hooker, givin' guys what they want - this is me. This is all I've ever done and it's all I wanna do."
Denise was struck dumb - she had never considered the possibility of simply wanting this kind of life, and even now, she couldn't say that she felt entirely convinced.
"The rules are simple in my line of work," Wenya continued, leaning over the back of the couch so she was closer to Denise. "You can have your fun. But once they start getting attached... protective... that's when you have to cut 'em loose."
"Do you like being lonely?" Denise asked suddenly, her face slightly pinched in her confusion. "I thought I did too, you know. A long time ago. It makes you feel like you're strong because you get through every day alone, and it feels good to say that you don't need anything from anyone," she said. The thought caught Wenya by surprise, as she straightened up and pulled away from Denise slightly, staring at her as though she'd grown another her. "But it's not the same as being strong. It's just being tough. Playing tough," Denise continued, shaking her head. "And tough is different from strong. Sometimes, being tough is just a different way of being scared."
The words lingered like a fog between the two women, and Wenya stared at Denise questioningly - the idea that Denise Ortiz, that Mei-mei, the girl with a hundred million dollars and a perfect little family, might have come from a life where she too knew how it felt to be alone was something that hadn't crossed Wenya's mind. Wenya had always seen Denise as delicate. Sure, she was smart, and loyal, and brave, but she was just a girl as far as Wenya knew. How, then, did she say such things as though she'd actually lived them?
"I don't need a life coach, Mei," Wenya said, sauntering back around the couch to swipe the bottle of Crown off the table again, taking a long, needy swig. "I'm fine. Just leave me be."
"But -"
"I know what this is," Wenya said sternly. "You feel bad about what's happening to Flick, so you want to make yourself feel better by saving someone else. But I don't need it, Mei. I don't."
And with that, Wenya finally tore away from the conversation to join Nero outside, leaving Denise with her thoughts. But while Denise seemed to have confused Wenya terribly, she herself had never seen anything more clearly. Wenya felt something for Happy, and it terrified her.
A/N's
Well, bye-bye Flick. I had originally written a more graphic scene, but I ultimately wasn't happy with it, so I left a lot more to the imagination. Anyway, I hope you all had a wonderful New Years celebration, wherever you celebrated it! In upcoming chapters, the perfect little marriage that Wenya picked on Denise about is going to be put to the test, so stay tuned. Until next time, cheers!